


Bloom for Me

by dynazty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Paint, F/F, Fluff, Painting, Romance, also bossy!luna because why not, artist!luna, flower metaphors :), nudity (?) but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynazty/pseuds/dynazty
Summary: It was a flower garden. That’s what Luna told her.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	Bloom for Me

**Author's Note:**

> requested by the lovely annie and beta'd by uphorie!! much love to you both <3

“Can you hold still?”

“Trust me, I’m trying.” Pansy shifted stiffly in her seat, hating the way the back of her chair dug into her spine and how the velvet upholstery didn’t actually cushion anything, which was honestly so pointless. “Can we take a break soon?”

“Not yet. I need to get your face shape,” replied Luna, peeking around her easel and squinting slightly at a space below Pansy’s nose before dipping her brush again and returning it to the canvas. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Pansy suppressed an eye-roll. She didn’t need to be told twice. “I am.”

“I know, just— wait.” Luna stood from her stool suddenly, round paint palette tucked into her elbow, and crossed the short space between the easel and Pansy’s setup. Her long skirt fluttered as she moved, sweeping around her bare ankles. When she reached Pansy, she bent down slightly and put two delicate fingers under the curve of her jaw, moving her head just barely to the left. “There,” Luna said decisively, thumb brushing Pansy’s cheek as she straightened back up. The pads of her fingers were soft and warm from holding a brush so long.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “Better, now?”

Luna smiled, her cheeks pinkish and supple. “Much.” She ducked forward to plant a quick, chaste kiss on the upturned tip of Pansy’s nose, a few stray locks of hair ghosting Pansy’s cheeks. “Only a few more minutes, I promise.”

Soothed by her closeness — the scent of her cherry perfume, her conditioner, her everything — Pansy acquiesced. “Okay. But you owe me.”

“I know. Stop talking.”

Pansy stopped talking. 

The silence lasted for a steady ten or fifteen minutes until Luna spoke again, this time with frustration. “This isn’t working,” she sighed, eyeing her canvas critically. Pansy wanted to stand up and slide her arms around Luna’s waist and tell her _no, you daft girl, you’re doing amazing,_ but she didn’t want to risk losing her pose and getting yelled at, so she didn’t. 

“What isn’t?” she asked instead.

“This.” Luna waved an airy hand at her canvas, then turned apologetic eyes on Pansy. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I’m just having trouble with this setup. It feels too—”

“Formal?” Pansy finished for her. “Stiff? Unnatural?”

“Yes.” Luna frowned again. Pansy hated that look on her. 

“What can I do?”

Luna stood still for a long moment, eyes darting between Pansy and the canvas, cogs clearly turning in her head. She bit down absently on the wooden end of her paintbrush, pink lips parting slightly. Then, all at once, her face lit up, eyes coming alive with the kindling of an idea. She pointed at Pansy with her brush. “Take your top off.”

If Pansy had been drinking any sort of liquid at that moment, she would’ve choked. “Pardon?”

“And move over there,” Luna instructed, gesturing at the empty settee off to the side of the studio, surrounded by stacks of used canvases and tins upon tins of paint. “Lie down, face down. I want to try something.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” Pansy groused without really meaning it. Lying down sounded significantly better than sitting in this stiff-backed chair. She pushed herself up, gave herself a moment to stretch her taut muscles wide, then followed Luna’s instructions. 

The slight summer breeze pushing in through the open window of the studio brushed her bare shoulders as she situated herself on the settee, propping her chin on her folded arms and trying to be as patient as possible as Luna rustled quietly through her box of paints. Pansy was about to speak up again and ask what exactly they were doing when she felt fingers on the dip of her lower back, followed by something cool and wet. 

Pansy’s head jerked. “Is that— are you painting me?”

“Yes,” Luna said softly, with amusement. “Do you mind?”

“I—” Pansy paused, feeling her muscles unwind under the cool, smooth touch of Luna’s paintbrush. “No. Not at all.”

“Good,” Luna said, satisfied, and then she continued to paint. 

___

It was a flower garden. That’s what Luna told her.

There were crocuses on Pansy’s shoulder blades, perennials down the knots of her spine, lavender on the dips of her love handles. Green vines curled around her neck like delicate serpents; marble daisies danced across her skin. 

There were tears in Pansy’s eyes when she finally looked away from the mirror. “Luna,” she said brokenly, a hitch in her voice.

Luna’s eyes were large and blue, like the asters blooming on the streaks of Pansy’s stretch marks. “Do you like it? I didn’t have a plan, I just sort of freehanded it—”

“I love it,” Pansy interrupted. “I love you.”

She’d never said it before; not out loud. But Luna was worth it. She’d always been worth it.

“I love you, too,” she said easily, as if she’d been saying it all her life, and Pansy’s heart bloomed.


End file.
